Wicked Things
by Charshee
Summary: A collection of drabbles centred around Spike and Buffy. Some lemons, some just to tug on your heart strings. Set pre-soul unless otherwise specified!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: My first ever Spuffy fic! The first of a few missing scenes and drabbles to come. Leave me a review and let me know what you think? Enjoy!**_

If she kept telling herself there wasn't anything wrong with this, perhaps she'd start to believe it. It didn't help that he knew it was wrong too, and he revelled in it, whispering it to her on every other ragged breath. Buffy rolled her hips again, clenching every muscle in her body just to watch his pale eyes grow wide before they rolled back. When he let her take control she knew it wasn't for her benefit, though she wasn't complaining. This was a man with out agenda, after all. Who preferred to channel his energy in whichever direction his woman commanded, and he loved following her commands, just as much as he loved giving her what she needed. She could only be so selfish, she could never love him, but she wanted to please him all the same.

Spike watched her move over him, her hair catching the candle light in golden ribbons. From under her he could see the scars that interrupted the smooth honey of her skin, the way the paler flesh caught the light. William's eyes find the white crescent on her throat, and he felt a surge of anger. Digging his hands into her hips he caught her on an upswing and held her still as he bucked up into her, watching her face contort in pleasure and surprise from underneath.

Beneath her... Beneath... Another welling up of frustration and he's flipped their positions completely, slammed her into the stone slab they'd made their bed for the evening, drilling into her like he had something to prove.

When his face shifted, canines elongating as her throat was revealed to him, her eyes opened to meet his. The demon growled at her, and he was filled with the memories of other girls, who felt small and breakable like this, looking at their lover to find he'd been replaced by a monster. She didn't scream like them, and that bothered part of him. He liked the scream, he liked the intoxicating blend of terror and arousal as he drove into them, he liked to sink his teeth in when they came. The blood was spiked with their climax that way, with all the chemicals it had released into her bloodstream.

She wasn't scared by him, if anything her eyes were shining with fascination as she brought a hand round from the back of his neck to run her fingers over the demonic ridges that had formed on his face.  
"Slayer." The vampire snarled, picking up the pace as he leant down to bury his face in her slender neck. He could feel her pulse thrumming against his lips, smell rich iron through her thin skin. Funny that it had taken his death to appreciate all the thrills possessed by a living human. His lips parted a little, tongue seeking salt, and his teeth brushing flesh they didn't dare find purchase on.  
"Don't, Spike, don't." He didn't need her breathless warnings, as much as he wanted to break the skin and drain her he knew it would be the end for them both. A world without her was a world without worth. He'd find the nearest church with a ford and douse himself with the water, skin sizzling as he walked out the doors to let it dry in the sun.  
William's hands cupped her backside, lifting her hips off the stone and pulling her up to meet his thrusts. The nails on her right hand made little half-moons down his arm, as her left collected the gel from his hair beneath them. He sat back on his heels, holding her onto him as he improved his angle and gave his nimble fingers access to her clit. Her cry made him grin, those monstrous teeth exposed and hungrier than the rest of him.

"Come for me, Slayer. Give in to it, pet."

As she came he followed suit, unable to hold out as she tightened around his length, imagining curbing both his hungers and breaking her skin as he did so, picturing rich red life flowing free and filling his mouth. Slayer blood, slayer love, slayer... He had fallen for his own death wish.

* * *

When he told her how it worked, all those human systems that seemed sustained despite his eternal death, she should've cut and run. They lay together in the semi darkness, recovering from one another, when she asked the nagging question that had been haunting her since she discovered just how capable vamps are at getting it on.

He'd tried not to look too guilty when he told her his passions were highest after a kill, or as it is after a slurpie cup full of microwaved O negative, because his body had used the new blood in an attempt to replace his own long stilled supply. Everything about them was stolen, they were the kind of beast that thrived off the life of others, because the moment their own was snuffed out they ached for it's return. The demon wearing a dead man's face couldn't possess a body that didn't crave life like it craved blood. What made him hard wasn't just her, it was someone else's blood rushing through his veins, pushed by some supernatural force that couldn't be comprehended in this dimension, or the next. Passion, perhaps, pulled the red through his body and forced a few hard pumps from the frozen lump of muscle that was once a human heart.

He grabbed the discarded silk coverlet from beside them on the floor, shaking the dust off before he threw it over them. His slayer curled up against him, shivering a little as the only warmth he could offer was a reflection of her own. Buffy's heavy lids had already closed, head lolling against his chest. She was so small beside him, he considered her as he pushed a lock of damp hair out of her face, it was hard to believe she was his greatest predator. Then again, he shifted onto his side to wrap himself around her, unlike other creatures of the night he was hers, too.


	2. Chapter 2

They'd thrown a couple of fledglings from one end of the cemetery to the other, trading adversaries each time they passed one another, like a comically violent kind of dance.

Spike had the young brunette woman, or considering she couldn't have been more than 15 when she died: girl, cornered against a crumbling mausoleum while Buffy battled the buff but slower male a dozen plots behind. He barely registered a slight growl in the shadows behind the structure before the girl rushed him, and he felt a thrill of pleasure at the smack the light body made against the stone, and the cracking of bone as he thrust the stake into her chest.

"Sorry, love." He quipped insincerely as their eyes met, her humanity returning to turn gold to whiskey a second before she dusted.

"I was keeping that one." Said a smooth voice from the shadows, and William's face shifted as he grinned, taking out a cigarette as casually as he could, even as his muscles tensed in preparation.

"Ah, Richard, should've known."

"She was quite the pretty little thing. Fought so hard at first, almost gave me the slip. She'd have made a fine companion."

"That's what you're calling it these days? Dick, mate, you're as bad as Angel when it comes to the young ones."

The vampire stepped out from the shadow of the twisted elm trees, his impeccably shined shoes caught the moonlight in most pretentious way, in Spikes opinion. There was more of a growl in his voice now, though Spike was sure that Italian suit would be nothing but restrictive in a fight.

"You weren't so impartial to them yourself. Remember that boarding school? How many did you turn before that mob chased you out of town? Of course, that was before you went and got yourself pussy whi-"

The demon was cut short, staring down at the wood, which had once been the handle of a shovel, protruding from his chest. He dusted almost instantly, and Spike lit the cigarette between his lips as the air cleared to reveal Buffy, looking at him with her eyebrows raised.

"Not so impartial to the young ones, hm?"

He inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke politely away from the slayer and her delicate human lungs.

"Boarding school, hm?"

"Well, you know, William the Bloody has a reputation to uphold."

He tossed the cigarette aside, and covered the distance between them with inhuman speed. She let him catch her by the waist and push her against the elm, her eyes searching his face for any sort of guilt at the mention of his victims. She found only hunger as his eyes roamed her body, brushing her hair aside to watch the pulse still jumping in her neck. The vampire dove in on instinct, but merely pressed his still human lips to the point and enjoyed it's dance against them.

"Mm, you smell good, slayer." He murmured against her throat, and she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the vibration of his voice against her skin before giving a small and ineffective shove against his chest.

"Stop it, someone could see."

"That's alright, pet, we can just pretend Big Bad is bleeding you dry."

He nipped at her flesh, his teeth were sharp and keen even untransformed, and she let him hear her quiet groan.

"That'd be sure to do wonders for my reputation with the vampire community." Her voice was breathy, and after winning all those fights she felt like giving in and losing one. She tilted her head to the side and further revealed her neck to him. Her scent was quickly becoming permeated with her growing arousal, and it made him want to sink his teeth in all the more.

"Wanna taste you, slayer. Wanna feel your warmth rush over my tongue." She yelped when he grasped a handful of her hair to hold her still as he ran his cool tongue up her neck, and brushed it over the shell of her ear. He pulled back to admire her, a moment to take in the well ordered beauty he intended on lending some chaos to.

Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck, and stood on tiptoe to press her mouth to his. He let her control the kiss for a moment, enjoying the evidence of her lust. His erection was straining against his jeans, pressed flush against her stomach. Her fingers fisted in his hair, ruffling his exact handiwork. He growled, deciding she'd had enough control for one night, and put his hands on her backside, running his hands down her thighs as he lifted her up. The slayer wrapped her legs around his waist and gasped at the sudden sensation of his hardness pressed against her hot centre. Spike leant back to watch the frustrated desire cross his slayer's features, his face half snarl half smirk as he began to grind himself against her, his own desperation growing by the second. He held her up balanced on his hips and a hand on her backside as he tore her blouse open, buttons flying away like bullets. The flimsy, translucent lace of her bra did little to conceal the raspberry pink of her nipples, which were calling for his attention. He cupped her right breast in his large palm, it's cold surface on her hot flesh was contrast enough to make her moan out loud.

"God, I love your tits, pet. Just the right size for a handful, just for me, perfect fit." He rubbed his thumb over her hardened nipple, the material was too much for the sensitive skin, and she squirmed away from the sensation. The vampire groaned through his grin, watching her face as her eyes rolled back and her cheeks turned pinker. He brushed over it again, and again, his ministrations rough and relentless as he revelled in her reactions.

Buffy wasn't proud of this, what she let him do, what she let him take from her. Despite the overwhelming blend of discomfort and unmistakable pleasure at the rough treatment of her breast, her hips were rocking against his, seeking out the sensations he made her crave like no one else had.

He needed better access to her body, to all that she'd kept hidden from him for far too long.

"What are you-?" She gasped out, opening her eyes to find his face vampiric and his eyes that strange yellow. It was strange, the thrill of fear he could send down her spine, like nothing else could. He'd done it before, he'd beaten the power of the chosen, and neither of them had given him such an advantage as this. For a strange, surreal moment she wondered if all his claims of love had always been an act, just as a way to get so close to her as to taste her flesh before he consumed her life.

The moment was broken when he dove in with his teeth, pulling the straps of the garment taught and slicing them easily with his fangs.

She wasn't sure if it was a growl or a groan he gave in response to the sight of her bare chest in the moonlight. Her skin was reacting to the cold night air like his hadn't in centuries, he caught the hardened peak of her left breast in his mouth, and she felt acutely aware of his still present fangs pressed against her soft skin. That is, until his icy tongue teased at her nipple and made her moan from deep down inside, and the fire that burned through her nerves blossomed into a blaze between her thighs. She felt sharp teeth trap it between them, and her whimper was accompanied by a half hearted attempt to wriggle away from his wicked mouth.

"Careful, pet, wouldn't want to make you bleed..." He dove for her right breast, giving it the same treatment as her left. If he didn't release his length from the confinement of his jeans soon he'd lose it, tear both their clothes to shreds and take her without devoting the time to giving her the undoing she deserved.

She could feel the way he was throbbing against her, and as though she'd read his mind her agile little hands undid his belt and unzipped his fly. He dropped her to her feet and knelt on the grass before her, yanking her jeans down her legs unceremoniously, not caring to unbutton them first, not caring that her underwear had been pulled down with them. She felt incredibly exposed, he was eye level with the dark dusting of curls between her legs. He could make her shy, a rare thing for her, he was drinking in the sight of her with hungry eyes, and she couldn't bare to meet them when they sought out her face from the shadows.

Without warning he wrapped his hands around each thigh, parting them enough that the musk of her arousal filled the air around them. His finger tips traced little circles on the sensitive skin, drawing out the moment in which she waited for his next move, drawing out the anticipation before he pounced.

He nuzzled into the dip at the apex of her thigh, running his cold tongue along it and making her shudder visibly. She bucked her hips, pushing herself towards the sensation, begging for his touch where she wanted it most.

"Patience, slayer."

"Don't tell me what to do." She said, fisting her fingers through his hair and pulling him to her. Despite her tugging at him he held fast, his mouth less than an inch from her increasingly wet furrow. He blew frigid air onto the sensitive skin there, making her squirm as it seemed to meet the wet heat of her with icy intensity.

His fingers worked up her inner thigh to dance around where she wanted them. Spike chuckled when he found the evidence of her arousal dripping down her leg, and gathered it on his finger, meeting her eyes as he brought it to his lips and licked his finger clean. She shivered as his eyes bore right through her, and they held one another's gaze as he leant closer, and pressed his tongue infuriatingly lightly against her, nuzzling into her curls as his tongue slipped between her folds and sought out her clit. He didn't give her enough pressure to do anything but drive her wild, and he had to hold her hips in an iron grip to keep her from bucking against his lips and taking this torture into her own hands. She'd have bruises tomorrow, deep purple blotches that would tell the story of his hands holding her still.

"Spike..." She whined, pulling at his hair harder now, grabbing a fistful of his leather collar and squeezing her frustration into it. He hummed approval at the sound of his name and it vibrated against her sex in a way that made her heart flutter in her chest. "Please, Spike, please." She gives up on her pride for now, and her pleading proves fruitful. His hands abandon her hips as he uses his fingers to spread her folds, enjoying her jump of shock as the cold air hit her most sensitive skin. He groaned at the sight of her velvet pink flesh,

"Big Bad has you all wet, pet." He said, his voice a husky baritone. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the moan she gave in response to his dirty mutterings.

"Like that, do you? Like hearing about how primed your pretty pink pussy is for me, slayer?" His wicked tongue took a break from it's crude words to seek out her exposed clit, making her slam back against the tree as she wondered if she'd still be able to stand much longer, or if her knees would buckle long before he was done with his games. Another callused fingertip teased against her slick entrance, though she barely registered it with his rhythmic lapping at that sensitive bundle of nerves. She wasn't prepared when he slipped the slender digit inside, making her cry out in delight at the unexpected intrusion. He could feel her muscles fluttering inside her, the way she was already clenching around his finger made his balls ache,

"Close already, slayer? You're so tight-" he began pumping the digit in and out of her, listening to every ragged breath and treasuring every little moan, "'surprises me every time." He returns to his ministrations with his tongue, matching the rhythm to the quick movement of his fingers.

When he had her gasping, the occasional demand of "faster" tearing from her lips, when he felt her cunt begin to contract around his finger in that familiar promise of pleasure he withdrew his finger and abandoned her clit. Her look of outrage only lasted a second before he'd spun her to face the tree she stood against, grabbing a fistful of hair as he pressed her face into the bark. She heard his belt clink as he shimmied his jeans to his knees and took his hard length in his hand, pressing the tip to her entrance. She braced herself, her whole body burning with it's recent disappointing trip to the edge of that little death, waiting for him to claim her. He didn't push into her, however, just slowly rocked his hips to run his tip over her folds, hearing her sharp intake of breath when his cock brushed her clit was too much, and he couldn't help but abandon his teasing and thrust into her with all the strength he could muster.

Buffy's groan of slight pain and incredible satisfaction was loud enough to have been heard the other end of the expansive cemetery, and he grunted with contentment at the sensation of her soft heat impaled on his member. He withdrew to the tip again, eyes fixed on her backside as he watched her body accommodate him, despite how little time he gave her to adjust to him each time he filled her, then left her aching and empty once more.

The hand in her hair was cold and strangely soothing against her hot scalp, the other was administering sharp smacks to the side of her backside and reddening thighs as he pounded into her. There it was again, the earthshaking end that promised to consume her, she was approaching it fast. This time he sped up to meet it, to push her over and then hold her there until she swore she'd had enough, until she begged him, until the pleasure blurred into pain as it overwhelmed her.

He stopped making handprints on her buttocks, and pinched each nipple hard before making his way to trap her clit and roll it gently between two fingers. She bucked against him hard, and when her climax hit he had to focus like never before on maintaining his rhythm and not letting her drag him along with her. The intensity of her ending only grew as he refused to relent, and when the best bits had ebbed she tried her best to escape his hands and endless pounding. That orgasm had left her limbs like jelly, though, and he had the power as he pushed her further into mindlessness. Just when she was sure she were too overwhelmed to cope with another minute of his rough treatment without doing something really embarrassing like fainting she was, she felt another orgasm begin to rip through her, and this one catches them both off guard. His thrusting is suddenly more erratic, more aggressive as his rides her climax out with her, chasing every spasm he can coax out of her. She feels him finish inside, without warning or apology, and his seed is chilled as the rest of him, almost a relief to her red raw passage.

Riley had come inside her without protection just the once, and she'd run to the pharmacy within hours, after giving him a scolding he could barely sit through without begging forgiveness every five seconds.

Spike wasn't human, however. Spike couldn't impregnate her with his evil demon spawn, so she chose to simply enjoy the primal high the sensation of his ending within her provided.

He released her hair, and flopped down on the ground beneath the tree, pulling her down with him. He cradled her between his legs as he leant back against the old trunk, listening to her heartbeat gradually slow back to it's normal, steady pace.

"You look tired, love." He said, casual as he wrapped her tattered blouse a little tighter over her chest, "and cold. Come on, my place, I'll make tea."

It's so normal she wants to laugh, but she lets him stand and help her up instead. He zips his jeans up, pulls his belt back into place, and removes his favourite coat, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"How come it's always my clothes that get all ruined?" She pouted, and he grins, unable to resist kissing her sweet mouth.

"Because you've got a seemingly bottomless closet. I, on the other hand, only own three shirts."

"That's a lie!" She insisted, as he wraps an arm around her waist and they begin the late night stroll to his crypt, where she'll fall asleep before her tea is cool enough to drink, and he'll sit up beside her, watching her dream until the sun threatens to rise and he has to wake her in time to get home before anyone notices she's gone.


End file.
